Stille Wolffe
by MidnightDawn999
Summary: After an incident at a Cantina, Wolffe becomes uncharacteristically quiet - Plo confronts him.
**A/N: This was written for RubbleStrength! I love you! And to all who read this, please do enjoy it.**

"They're clones," the word was dragged out with disgust. "Don't give 'em drinks, bartender!" the drunken fellow cried, slamming his hand down on the freshly-washed bar table.  
Wolffe scowled and rolled his eyes, shaking his head even as he lifted the glass to his lips.  
A fleshy hand shoved at him. He turned, gripping it tightly before its owner could make a cowardly and hasty escape. Roughly, Wolffe slammed the hand on the bar counter. He stared into round, pink eyes and narrowed his own. "Back off."

It seemed the man wasn't sure whether to continue or to do as he said. It seemed though, tonight, he was willing to take his life into his hands. "Why? What'r you 'fraid of?"

"Commander, maybe we should just go. We don't want any trouble." Any *more* trouble. He knew the word had been left out on purpose, but it was supposed to be there. Wolffe still didn't look away from the drunkard who stared at him. Challenging him. Annoyance was beginning to simmer into anger. As if they didn't have enough to think about; fighting a war they didn't start.

A hand fell on his shoulder. "Commander Wolffe, get your men. We're leaving." This time, the voice wasn't that of Sinker. The clone stood, releasing the man's hand as he did so.

"Yes, sir. You heard him," Wolffe turned to face the others, "Pack up, men."

The other troopers stood from their seats. Jedi Master Plo Koon nodded, then led the way through the Cantina. "Leaving so soon?" Someone called out, their voice mocking. If there was a way for Wolffe's scowl to deepen, it would have.

"Look at them, running away!" It was the first man. The one who had started the whole mess.

Boost spun around, looking fully intent on putting the man back in his place. At least, until Plo's hand wrapped around his bicep, claw-like-nails against his skin. "This is not the time for a fight, Boost."

"He's – yes, sir." Boost ground his teeth, Wolffe could hear the sound from where he stood.

Comet let out a heavy sigh. Wolffe couldn't agree more. He headed towards the exit, Plo just beside him. Jeers still followed them out, thrown at their backs. As soon as they were outside, the cold night air surrounded them, the wind blowing softly.

"At least we won't have to hear about Comet's hangover tomorrow," Sinker quipped.

"I can't believe it!" Boost exclaimed, seething. "We should have stayed!"

"Battles are won on frontlines - you should not waste energy fighting these kinds of wars." Plo's words seemed to quiet the men.

Wolffe, however, had stayed silent since the fight – and remained so even after they returned to their base.

The three men seemed bound and determined to make Plo laugh. And they also seemed rather unaware that he knew of their intentions. He wouldn't mention it too them. It was quite amusing as it was. The Jedi crossed his arms over his chest, listening to their conversation that was quiet - and yet conveniently just loud enough to hear. 

Subtle. 

"... and we scrapped 'em all right!" Their laughter was low.

He was only half paying attention to their attempts. The rest of his focus was on the Wolfpack Commander, who stood by his side. The man looked distant, whereas usually by this point he would be calling the others out on their tactics. Instead, he watched them with a lack of interest that hadn't gone away ever since they had returned from the Cantina.

"What is on your mind, Commander?" Even as the Jedi spoke, he didn't make a move to look at the other man. He didn't need to.

"The war."

"Which war are you referring too?" Finally, Plo shifted, grate-like eyes watching Wolffe's expression.

"The Clone Wars, sir."

"Hm. Yes." Plo tapped a finger against his crossed arm, looking away once again. "Be careful at whom you direct your anger, Wolffe."

"They blame us for the war." Wolffe frowned, fists clenching.

"Many blame the clones, and also the Jedi. Others blame the Sith. Putting the blame on another is easier than choosing a side and fighting for what you believe."

The man glanced sideways at him.

"It takes courage to take a stand." Plo set a hand on his shoulder and gripped tightly, looking into the clone's eyes until Wolffe gave a nod of acknowledgment.

"You and your men, rest. Master Obi-Wan has requested the Wolfpack join him tomorrow for a briefing."

"Yes, sir."

 **Feedback is always appreciated.**


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